


Five Times Pete Ended Up In Patrick's Bed (And One Time It Was The Other Way Around)

by kxllington



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 5+1, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Sharing a Bed, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Van Days (mentioned), dont mind me just brightening up the Peterick tag, just read it it's good I swear, lighten up kiddos, literally just sleeping together no sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of instances where Pete ended up sleeping with Patrick for some reason, and one in particular where Patrick ended up in Pete's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Pete Ended Up In Patrick's Bed (And One Time It Was The Other Way Around)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had school on officially for two days and already I'm Stressed™
> 
> However that stress resulted in Peterick fluff so here you go lmao
> 
> Enjoy!

1\. _Take This To Your Grave:_

"So fucking cold..." Patrick muttered, burrowing deeper into his sleeping bag. The amps surrounding him weren't helping his quest for warmth, their plastic surfaces capturing the chill from the air in the van. Worse, his sleeping bag was doing practically nothing for him, seeing as it was a bit too large for him, and he was pretty sure it had a hole in the bottom near his feet. All in all, the nineteen year old was miserable, curling further in on himself as to somehow help himself warm up. He had hoped that his rustling around had been quiet but of course, luck was ever against him. The bassist beside him shifted, sniffing.

"...you okay, Patrick?" Pete asked groggily, peeking his head up from where he laid beside the singer. Patrick groaned inwardly, rolling to face the man.

"Go back to sleep, Pete. 'S fine." Patrick replied, trying to stifle the sound of his teeth chattering. In the dim light of the van, the boy could see Pete's eyebrows knit together as the bassist stared at him.

"You cold?" Pete asked. Patrick had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.

"Gosh, _what_ gave you that idea? The shivering or the growing urge to blow my brains out?" The singer deadpanned. Pete put his hands up in defense, lips turing down in an exaggerated frown.

"Calm down, dude, I was just asking." The bassist whispered, voice rising an octave. Patrick huffed, creating a puff of breath, then rolled back over so his back was to Pete.

"Just go back to sleep, I'll be fine." The singer groused, curling further in on himself. In doing so he twisted the too-big sleeping bag, exposing his whole back. He groaned, but stubbornly closed his eyes, waiting to hear Pete lay back down.

That never happened.

Instead, he heard rustling, and suddenly his zipper opened, cold air rushing to raise goosebumps on his pale skin.

"Pete, what the fu—" Patrick began, but he was suddenly cut off by the blissfully warm body pressed against his back. Pete closed the sleeping bag around them both again, and almost immediately, the boy felt heat spreading to every corner of the fabric. Pete nestled his head right beside Patrick's, hooking his chin over the singer's shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. Patrick had to resist the urge to moan at the sudden warmth.

"Better?" Pete murmured against the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down the boy's spine. Patrick nodded, pressing his icy feet to the bassist's calves. Pete smiled against his temple, pulling him in tighter to his body. "You can go to sleep now, kid, busy day tomorrow." Patrick sniffed indignantly.

"Not a kid..." Patrick replied, voice distant. His eyelids drooped almost immediately, tiredness washing over him. Pete just chuckled, pressing his face into the crook of Patrick's neck.

"Yeah, sure." The man said. Patrick rolled his eyes before letting them drift closed, warmth and kindness lulling him into a deep sleep.

///////

2\. _From Under The Cork Tree_ :

"See you guys in the morning, night!" Pete waved cheerfully to Andy and Joe as they retired to their motel room for the night. Patrick stood by the door to their room, tapping his foot impatiently. His throat was strained and sore, voice practically nonexistent, and all he wanted to do was go to bed. Pete turned to face the grumpy man, smiling still. "You good, 'Trick?" The bassist asked, pulling out their room key. Patrick just nodded in response, stepping to the side to allow Pete to open their door.

If he'd had a voice at that moment, he would've screamed. As Pete swung open the door and turned on the light, two pairs of eyes fell upon the single bed in the room.

_One._

_Un._

_Uno._

Whether it be an honest mistake or a prank from Joe and Andy, the singer didn't care. His shoulders dropped along with his mouth, gawking at the room. Behind him, Pete cleared his throat.

"Well that's unfortunate." He muttered. Patrick had to fight the urge to turn around and smack the older man. Un- _fucking_ -fortunate indeed. Stepping awkwardly into the room, Patrick found, much to his dismay, there was no couch in sight. Two shitty plastic chairs at an old wooden table, a desk in the corner, an old ass TV set atop a rickety dresser and _one_ , large, king-sized bed.

 _Fuck_.

"We might be able to go...switch the rooms..." Pete trailed off, closing the door behind him as he stepped inside. Patrick groaned softly. No. No they couldn't. It was one in the morning. There was nobody in the office up front, and despite his annoyance Patrick really didn't want to wake anyone up.

They were shit out of luck.

"No, whatever..." The singer croaked, setting his bag in the corner. He kicked off his shoes, sending them flying beside his stuff. Flopping face first on the bed, he sighed heavily. His face scrunched up at the way it made his throat scratch.

"Woah, your voice sounds fuckin' wrecked. No wonder you didn't say anything after the show." Pete mused, setting his belongings near the table and chairs. Patrick heaved another breath in response, not moving his face from where it was pressed into the comforter.

Pete muttered something about taking a quick shower, leaving Patrick alone with his thoughts. Which, once the singer realized that, wasn't a very good thing. Rolling so he was staring at the ceiling, the man crossed his arms and frowned deeply.

He was not gay. Pete was bi, sure, but that had no effect on either of them. Pete was his best friend, why would he want to get in his pants? Patrick swiped a hand down his face, trying to groan, but all that came was a broken rasp.

Why was he having a big freak out anyways? It was a fucking bed. Not like it was sacrilege or anything. He and Pete had shared a bed a bunch of times, why was tonight any different?

But then, Pete emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his waist and water droplets beading on his collarbone. His skin, tinted rose from the hot water, made his tattoos darken in a stark contrast. Eyeliner was still slightly stained around his eyes, and his hair, though still dripping wet, dropped into his vision at just the right angle.

Patrick internally chided himself for not looking away, but he couldn't seem to make himself do so. The singer shut his mouth (which had fallen open in shock) with a click just as Pete looked over at him. The bassist smiled, readjusting his grip on the towel.

"Forgot to bring my PJs in with me." Pete said, reaching into his bag to snag his pyjamas. The older man crossed to room again, slipping back into the bathroom without another word. Patrick gaped at the spot where Pete had just been standing, at the wet hints of footprints left in the carpet. So that's why tonight was different. Pete was fucking _hot_.

Patrick was totally gay.

Body finally springing back into motion, Patrick hauled himself up from the bed, tossing his trucker hat onto the table. Slipping his pyjama pants on (and not even bothering to change his shirt), the singer tried to convince himself that nothing was going to happen. Even if, somewhere deep within him, he wanted it to.

Shutting the light off and locking their door, Patrick decided he'd do his damnedest to fake being asleep. It'd save him the embarrassment of watching Pete crawl into bed beside him. Lifting the covers of one side of the bed, the younger man slipped in as silently as he could, readjusting until he was in his usual sleeping position. Then, just as he heard the bathroom door open, he closed his eyes, slowing his breathing and trying to slow his heart.

"'Trick?" Pete asked softly, coming to stand beside the bed. Patrick bit the tip of his tongue, forcing himself to stay silent. Above him, Pete chuckled, walking away again. The light against his eyelids disappeared as the older man turned off the bathroom light. Behind Patrick, the bed dipped, and the bassist rolled over onto his stomach.

It was silent in the room for a long while. Patrick didn't dare to roll onto his back or open his eyes. He just listened to the sound of the bassist's steady breathing, stubbornly feigning sleep. Suddenly, a hand was gently weaved into his hair, and began to softly play with the strands.

"Night, Patrick." Pete said, voice barely over a whisper. His body loomed over Patrick's for a moment, and he pressed a painfully gentle kiss to the younger man's temple before laying back down. Patrick laid stock still, heart pounding. Eventually, Pete's breathing evened out, and the singer relaxed, melting into the mattress. He couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips as he let himself drift off.

///////

3\. _Infinity On High_ :

Patrick was awoken to the sound of someone singing softly.

And that was _highly_ unusual.

A glance at his phone underneath his pillow told the man it was 3:27 in the morning, making the singing person seem even stranger. Brow furrowing as his bleary eyes adjusted to the darkness, Patrick shuffled forwards, pulling his bunk curtain open slowly.

Glancing up at the top bunks, he noted that Andy and Joe were still sleeping soundly, soft breaths coming from both beds. Pete, however, very clearly had a light on in his bunk, which shone rather brightly into the room despite his dark curtains being drawn. And the singing seemed to be coming from there, too.

" _They say quitters never win, but we walked the plank on a sinking ship..._ " The person sang quietly, slightly off key. The sound of papers flipping arose from behind the curtain, followed by a pen scratching out words. Balancing carefully on the edge of his bed, Patrick leaned across the aisle, reaching out to open Pete's bunk. As soon as his fingers had curled into the fabric, the singing stopped.

Pulling the curtains out of the way, Patrick was met with Pete, sitting cross legged on his bed. His notebook laid open in his lap, pen frozen overtop where he'd been feverishly writing. He looked almost...guilty, with his hunched back and black bangs falling into his tired eyes. Concerned, Patrick drew the curtain all the way back, looking closely at his friend.

"Pete, you okay?" The singer whispered, leaning over as far as he could. Pete sighed heavily, looking down at his hands in defeat.

"I can't sleep." Pete replied softly, capping his pen and tossing it to the side. The way he had answered so blankly made a shiver of worry run down Patrick's spine, and he pushed his own curtain back a bit, knowing what to do.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, and Patrick seriously doubted it would be the last. He knew his friend had insomnia pretty bad, but even knowing it was inevitable didn't help the younger man to worry any less. Smiling up at the bassist as warmly as he could, Patrick patted the mattress, shuffling until his back was pressed against the wall. Almost immediately, Pete flicked off his bunk light and leapt across the aisle.

Pete squished into Patrick's bunk, fighting to fit until they were pressed flush together. The older man immediately pressed his face into the crook of Patrick's neck, balling his fists in the singer's t-shirt. Patrick wrapped his arms around him, quickly drawing the curtains again.

"D'you wanna talk?" Patrick asked softly, tracing spirals into Pete's back. He felt the bassist shake his head.

"Just sing, please." Pete whispered hoarsely. His fists tightened in the younger man's shirt like a lifeline, and Patrick sighed lightly, thinking of a song.

" _How cruel is the golden rule when the lies we live are only golden plated..._ " Patrick sang softly, careful not to wake the others up as he did. Slowly, he felt Pete's grip on his shirt loosen until it was practically nothing. His breath evened out against the pale skin of Patrick's neck. It wasn't much long after that that the singer's voice faltered, then stopped altogether as he fell back into a peaceful slumber.

///////

4\. _Folie à Deux_ :

They say you shouldn't go to bed angry. Patrick wondered to himself when he'd stopped listening to the advice of his elders.

Patrick curled up in his hotel bed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It wasn't like he wanted to be pissed off, he just... _was_! And it was all stupid Pete's fault. He's the one who'd come in pissed off, who'd started accusing him of shit...

Oh wait. That was last time.

Because with them, there was always a last time, and a next time. And three more after that.

Anger gave way to sadness as the bottom dropped out of Patrick's stomach. He'd been wrong. This time, it was _his_ fault. Not Pete's. He had been the one to return to the hotel room, fuming, and the one to begin yelling at the bassist. But in his defense, Pete had kissed him on the neck! _Onstage_! What kind of crazy, arrogant prick—

Patrick took a deep breath, stopping that train of thought. _No_ , no what had happened in the hotel room had been the singer's fault. He'd overreacted and taken it out on Pete. That was just Pete's way of showing affection, anyways, and it wasn't like it was the first time he'd done it. Patrick shouldn't have gotten angry over a tiny, innocent thing like that.

But maybe, the singer thought as he pressed his face into the pillows, willing himself to disappear, he'd only gotten angry over how confused the sweaty kisses pressed sloppily on his neck made him really feel. He didn't want to be in love with Pete, didn't want to be head over heels with a man who was married, who was going to be a father, who didn't want anything to do with him like that.

And yet, he was completely, unfortunately and irrevocably in love with Pete Wentz.

As if on cue, the hotel room door swung open, then clicked shut. Shoes clunked dully as they were shoved against the wall, and guilty, shuffling footsteps dragged across the carpet towards Patrick's bed. The mattress dipped, and suddenly a warm body was behind him, wrapping arms around his soft waist.

"M'sorry. Shouldn't've done that." Pete muttered, pressing his face into Patrick's shoulder. For a moment, Patrick let himself enjoy the warm hug, as if it meant more than a friendly apology. The singer cast his eyes down, gaze falling upon the golden band on Pete's left hand, and his mouth went dry with guilt. He supposed he should reply, before the bassist thought he was being given the silent treatment.

"No, I am." Patrick sighed, rolling over as best he could to face the older man. "I overreacted. I know that's just something you do, and I shouldn't have gotten so pissed. It's my fault." Pete stared at him for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then, he pressed his face into the crook of the singer's neck, huffing a breath.

"We're both sorry. Let's go to sleep." Pete whispered, voice distant. Lips quirking into a half smile, Patrick brought an arm up around the older man.

"Okay, Pete."

///////

5\. _Save Rock And Roll_ :

"Fuck, it is good to be back!" Pete shouted triumphantly, collapsing onto the hotel bed. He sauced him bag across the room, letting it hit the far wall carelessly. Patrick laughed, towing his suitcase behind him. The door clicked shut on its own, allowing the men privacy. Unlacing his boots in a rush, Patrick shoved his suitcase at the end of the bed, then fell forwards onto the bed beside the bassist.

"It's refreshing, you know?" Pete continued, gesturing wildly. "Coming back to Fall Out Boy just feels right. Like there was so much shit that was wrong, like not seeing you guys all the time, and not being on stage and stuff. This just feels...so right." The bassist sighed towards the end, letting his hands fall down to the comforter. Chuckling again, Patrick rolled over, propping his head up on his elbow.

"Yeah. I've missed you guys." He said, smiling. Pete smirked, brushing Patrick's soft hair back (a completely friendly gesture, the singer thought).

"I've missed _you_. We didn't really talk for a long time, it sucked. Good to finally be able to talk to you in person." The older man murmured, wrapping his arm behind Patrick's neck to haul the singer up into a hug. Patrick complied, letting himself be squished in the bassist's strong embrace. Falling back and rolling off of Pete, Patrick pushed himself up.

"So what do you wanna do?" He asked, tucking his legs beneath him. Pete looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

"We could watch a movie?" He offered, gesturing at the TV. Patrick smiled, nodding. Reaching over the other man to grab the remote, the younger man flicked the TV on, propping himself against the headboard. Pete followed suit, shoving the pillows behind his head.

Settling on _The Dark Knight_ , Pete and Patrick fell into a comfortable silence. The screen cast shadows across the walls, flickering as it filled the room with soft sound. At some point, the bassist had unconsciously pressed himself flush against Patrick, not that the latter was complaining.

Despite having four years to get over his stupid little crush, he still hadn't, and he was screaming on the inside. The singer couldn't help but smile, though. Even though he felt like squealing (yes, _squealing_ ) at the feeling of Pete's warm body practically in his lap, it just felt awesome to just be hanging out with him again.

He felt something drop onto his shoulder, and Patrick turned to find Pete's head leaned there. He was nodding off, eyes half lidded and glazed over. Patrick smirked, resolving to let Pete fall asleep on him. He'd just move to the other bed when he got sleepy. The movie was too interesting to fall asleep to anyway...

Not even ten minutes later, Patrick's head had dropped to rest on top of Pete's, still half sitting up on the bed. Later on in the night, Pete would wake up and notice how bag that would end up hurting their necks, carefully shuffling them both down to lay on the bed, and would make no move to go to the opposite bed.

But in that moment, it was perfectly fine.

///////

+1. _American Beauty/American Psycho_ :

Pete picked up within two rings. Two rings was enough time for Patrick to regret every decision he'd ever made. The bottom of his stomach dropped out as he heard the older man pick up.

"Hey, 'Trick, what's up?" Pete asked innocently, voice cheerful. Patrick froze like a deer in the headlights, scrambling for his words.

"Are you at home?" The singer blurted out. Silence rung out the other end for a moment,

"Umm, yeah. What's wrong, Patrick?" Concern dripped from the older man's voice, but Patrick ignored it.

"I'll be over in a second." The younger man said quickly. He hung up his phone immediately after, only hearing the first syllable of Pete's shocked response. Shoving his phone roughly into his pocket, Patrick felt his heart stop. He'd done it. He'd said he was going over, no turning back now. No chickening out, now that he'd gotten Pete's attention.

He was finally going to tell Pete he loved him.

It only took fifteen years.

Bordering on panic as he pulled his boots on roughly, every possible rejection flooded into the singer's mind. _You're too ugly for me, I don't like you that way, I have a super hot girlfriend you didn't know about, you're too fat, never talk to me again._ The dark outcomes tried to drown him. But quickly, snagging his car keys off the counter, he breached the surface and shoved them aside.

He'd just have to do it. _No second thoughts. Just gotta do it._

He must've been speeding all the way to Pete's house, though he couldn't really tell. He didn't get pulled over, at least. Zipping along through the streets of Los Angeles, Patrick kept swallowing the urge to turn back around. Halting briefly at a stop sign, he looked up at the sky, watching the purples and blues swirl and mix with each other as dark clouds started drifting overhead. It seemed to calm him and he let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"I got this." Patrick told himself, lightly banging his fist against the side of the steering wheel. He started driving again, twisting sharply into Pete's driveway. The bassist was outside almost immediately, not even bothering with shoes as he bounded out the front door.

"Patrick! What's wrong?" Pete asked, voice high. Patrick froze again. He hadn't planned what he was gonna say.

Fuck.

"There's— there's nothing wrong, I— _I_...um..." Patrick fumbled, tripping over his tongue. Pete squinted at him, trying to decipher. "I was at home, and I was thinking, and I've been thinking about this a long time and— ugh, shit, I— um," the singer felt panic begin to rise in his chest again as he watched Pete get more confused with every word that came out of his mouth.

" _Dude_ , spit it out!" Pete exclaimed, clapping a hand on Patrick's shoulder. Groaning in frustration, he gave up on words and lunged, securely wrapping his arms around Pete's neck. Clumsily, he pressed his lips against Pete's hard, cutting off the older man's shocked noise.

For a flicker of a second, Patrick thought he'd finally done it. He'd crossed the line, pissed Pete off, made him hate him. Fall Out Boy was history all because of his dumb teenage crush that had lasted long after he was a teenager. But then, arms weaved around his waist. Soft lips moved against his own, and the singer could've sworn fireworks were going off in his chest because _Pete was kissing him back_. Suddenly the world melted away into tan, tattooed arms and warm, chapped lips.

Pulling back for air, Pete pressed his forehead to Patrick's, eyes still closed. They stood there for a moment, panting as they took in the turn of events. Desperately, Patrick chased the older man's lips again, stealing another chaste kiss before laughing.

"Whatcha laughing at?" Pete asked, smirking.

"I'm surprised that worked. I had to force myself to call you and tell you I was coming just so I couldn't back out." Patrick confessed, finally opening his eyes. Whisky brown stared back at him, adoration filling them.

"I don't know why you were worried, 'Trick. Could've done this the day we met and I still would've reacted the same way." Pete grinned then, kissing Patrick softly again. Heart skipping a beat, the younger man brought his hands to cup Pete's jaw, grinning widely. His eyes burned as happy tears started forming, but he stubbornly blinked them away.

Suddenly, rain began to drip on them, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Glancing up at the stormy sky, Pete smiled. The rain came down harder and harder, but they didn't move.

"We should go inside!" Pete yelled over the din of the rain.

"Probably!" Patrick replied with a laugh.

"That means we should let go!"

"Probably!" Smirking at the bassist, Patrick made no move to free Pete from his grasp. Neither did he.

"Fine, then!" Pete surged forward, kissing Patrick harshly again. Stumbling backwards awkwardly, they tried to reach the door while keeping their embrace. As the rain soaked into their clothes, they nearly fell back onto the pavement. Giggling, Pete forced Patrick's arms from his neck, pulling him along playfully. They dashed inside, giggling the entire time.

The door shut behind them just as thunder crashed. Almost immediately after, Patrick was pinned against the hard wood, having the breath kissed out of him. Hands braced on either side of the singer, Pete dipped down to kiss him energetically. Lightning flashed, and Pete paused for a moment, lips poised mere centimetres away from the younger man's.

"That storm looks pretty nasty." Pete mused as innocently as he could muster. Patrick brought his hands up again, toying with the bleached hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, it does." Patrick muttered, leaning forward to steal a kiss. Pete smirked.

"Looks like you can't leave tonight." The bassist pressed impossibly closer, eyebrow cocked.

"You've got a guest room."

"Let's pretend, for tonight, that I don't."

"Fine by me." Not wasting any more breath, their kiss reddened lips crashed together again, and Pete hoisted Patrick up so his legs were wrapped around his waist. Not breaking off, the bassist carried them to his room. Once the door was closed, they didn't waste time tearing off clothing.

///////

Later that night (or maybe morning, the power had gone out), they laid in the dark, tangled together. The storm had calmed, but neither man made any move to get up. Their shirts were tossed carelessly somewhere in the corner, jeans shucked at the end of the bed. Pete's arms were steady around Patrick's waist, hand absently drawing small swirls into the singer's plush side.

Though Pete had his eyes closed, Patrick's remained open, gazing in awe at the older man. After so many years of pining, pining which he'd just found out was mutual, he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Finally, Pete was his. Sighing, Patrick smiled to himself.

"You can go to sleep now, kid, busy day tomorrow." Pete murmured. A quick flash of memory, of that horrendously cold night in the van, and Patrick's smile grew.

"Not a kid..." The singer whispered in reply, stealing another kiss. Pete smiled, pressing their foreheads together again.

"Just go to sleep, 'Trick. I'm not gonna disappear." The bassist said, shuffling so Patrick could bury his face in the crook of his neck. The younger man did so quickly, breathing deeply,

"I know." Sleep started to creep into Patrick's mind, taking him over quickly. "I love you." He added, feeling his mind going fuzzy.

"I love you, too." Pete replied softly. That was the last thing Patrick heard before drifting into the best sleep he'd had in a long while.


End file.
